


For the Last Goddamn Time

by Itsthecolorsyouhave



Category: IT (2017), IT - Stephen King
Genre: M/M, Overdose, also didn’t proof read, inapropriate for all ages, not sure why I did this, sorry - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-26
Updated: 2018-03-26
Packaged: 2019-04-08 08:04:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,162
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14101041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Itsthecolorsyouhave/pseuds/Itsthecolorsyouhave
Summary: Eddie blames himself. For everything. Richie doesn’t know how to help. Until it’s too late.





	For the Last Goddamn Time

He broke his arm again when he was 22. That’s probably around when it all started. The kid hadn’t touched a damn thing since he found out his mom had been stuffing full of placebos his whole life. But she had died about 6 months before the break and Eddie was... he wasn’t in the right mind. He blamed himself I think. For lots of things but he slays he put too much on her right before her heart attack. Says that telling her he was gay was what did it. Won’t listen to anybody when they tell him his mom was about a hundred pounds overweight. That her heart couldn’t keep going at that rate regardless of whether or not he broke it. He kind of went on a bender the night of the funeral. We tried to go out and get his mind off things. He drank so fucking much I mean I’ve never- I don’t know. Some point we all ended up on a roof top. Talking about how much we love each other and destiny and all the things best friends talk about when they’ve had too much to drink. Most everyone was passed out. Then Eddie, he stood up and he ran to the edge and I jumped up to follow as quick as I could and he just stood there. On the side of this building with his arms stretched out wide and he looked back at me. I said “Eddie. Please get down. This isn’t funny.” He said, “I’m not trying to be funny, Rich.” I asked him then “what are you trying to be?” He said “I just want to be Eddie.” I didn’t know what he meant then but I think he meant he wanted to learn how to be himself. Outside of his friends. Outside of his mother. I didn’t see any fear in his eyes that day. None. He scared me almost. This guy I’ve known since we were kids decided right then he wasn’t who he used to be. After that night I stayed with him. I didn’t trust him by himself. I thought he might do something. Hurt himself. He spent a lot of days sleeping. A lot of nights crying. He didn’t eat much. Drank quite a bit though. I thought he finally had a break through though. He got up early one morning and went for a run. Came back all sweaty and smiling and that’s when he kissed me for the first time. We kind of fell into each other at that point. Years of unresolved tension that had built up between stolen glances and lingering hands. I was so goddamn happy. It became a routine. Out for a run and back home to me. He was still so skinny though. And still losing. Finally one morning he went out. It was raining bad and had been all night. It was so early it was still dark and that’s when... I mean I guess they didn’t see him. That old car though. It just fucking slammed right through him. Luckily there were other people out there who got a plate and called the cops. Took the ambulance a while to get there from what I understand. Bruised and concussed but otherwise fine. But he broke that goddamn arm again. Fuck. When I got to the hospital he was awake. The rest of our friends followed. I kissed him in front of them. We hadn’t told them yet. They seemed okay. The doctors kept him for two nights. Kept him on an even flow of morphine and sent him home with a script for hydros. For the pain. When we got home he popped them like candy. He’d get these spouts of energy and just clean for hours. When he ran out he was pissed. Called the doctor about his pain. They gave him another prescription. I thought m, ya know, if he’s using them that means he needs them. He seemed alright when he had them. After he ran out of the second bottle the doctors told him to take ibuprofen and go to bed. He didn’t like that. He got really mad at me that night. Went off on me really. Scared me again. This wasn’t old Eddie. It was new Eddie. And new Eddie sometimes had so much fire in him i wasn’t sure what to do. I tried to pull him in. Kiss him. Hold him. He actually pushed me away. Like physically pushed. He ran out of the apartment and didn’t come home that night. He finally showed up again the next morning and he was so happy. He kissed me and told me he was sorry and that he just wasn’t himself last night. I fell for it because I had already fallen for him. He snuck off more after that. He be gone for a couple hours and come home jittery and happy. He about stopped eating altogether. Everything I made got put away as leftovers. All the leftovers got thrown out on Sunday. I started to get really scared. I knew he was lying to me. I would ask him where he had been and he’d always say “out for a run” or “just to the store” always in pants and never returning with groceries. He kept losing weight, too. His personality changed more and more. Towards the end I didn’t even recognize the man I slept next to every night. One night after a screaming match I raised the goddamn house. I flipped that shit inside out. Finally at about 3 am I found it. A little baggy of smack just sitting in his shoes. I cried so fucking hard. I flushed the shit down the toilet and waited for him to wake up. When he finally did my eyes were bloodshot. I know I looked like hell but I promise I felt worse. I told him I flushed his stash. He acted like he didn’t hear me so I repeated myself. It was like someone flipped a switch. He was on me in a goddamn second. He screamed at me and grabbed my shirt and said the worst shit I’ve ever heard come out of his mouth. I was crying but he wasn’t. He was all rage. It ate at him from the inside out. He pushed me away and I fell to the floor. He told me to get my shit and get out. I tried to fight him on it but I was running on no sleep and a broken heart. I gave up. I left. I blamed myself for what happened. Even now. After everything. The next day I went back to the apartment and that’s when I found him. Alive but unresponsive with a band tied around his upper arm. I called the police and now I’m here. Answering all these goddamn questions. I just want to know if he’s— is he okay?


End file.
